


The Real Winner

by underthenorthstar



Series: Tumblr Fics [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Drinking Games, F/M, It's super silly, Making Out, Tumblr Prompt, everyone gets drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthenorthstar/pseuds/underthenorthstar
Summary: From a Tumblr prompt about having a drinking contest with the Ragnarssons, and what happens after.TW: Drunken shenanigans





	The Real Winner

**Author's Note:**

> Transferring all my Tumblr fics to here! Please enjoy them :)

It is just another night in Kattegat, food and ale being passed around the table as you supped with the Ragnarssons. You ate with them most nights, having known the lads since you were just children. Your sister and Ubbe’s new wife Margrethe round out the ensemble, the group of you talking and laughing as you dine.

As usual, a rivalry springs up between Ivar and one of his brothers. Tonight, it is who can drink the most ale. You roll your eyes as Ivar suggests a drinking contest to settle the matter. The other sons agree eagerly.

“Why must you always try to be the best at everything?” You murmur to Ivar as Ubbe calls a slave to bring more alcohol. He gives you a glare, one hand coming to rest on your thigh under the table.

“You should have no complaints about me wanting to be the best,” he says, hand squeezing your flesh hard. You cannot help but shudder slightly and agree with him. Ever since your axe contest you have not spent one night in your own bed. And you definitely do not have any complaints about that.

The ale arrives, and you turn your attention to your cup. You might as well participate. You are quite tolerant of ale, you probably could win. And it will be rather funny to see the high and mighty Ragnarssons get into their cups.

Everyone raises their glasses, a loud “SKAL” echoing around the table. You all drink deeply, and the competition has begun.

It’s not surprising when your sister bows out first. She has always been easy to get drunk. She slams down her fourth cup of ale, standing from the table as she does so.

“What, finished already, Visna?” Sigurd laughs, leaning back in his chair. The Ragnarssons seem hardly affected, the only sign being all their cheeks are beginning to flush.

Visna hiccups, swaying slightly. “I am drunk,” she declares. “And I am feeling like there are better things to do than sit here and continue to drink with you lot.”

“Like what?” Hvitserk asks, grinning up at her. Visna grins back at him.

“Like this!” She cries, and promptly plops herself down in his lap. She takes his face in her hands and plants a huge, sloppy kiss right on his mouth.

Cheers and laughter echo around the table as Hvitserk enthusiastically kisses her back. You shake your head and smile to yourself. Your sister has been sweet on Hvitserk for a while now, and it is nice to see that the feeling is mutual.

“Well, I’m out, brothers,” Hvitserk grins, grabbing Visna’s rear as they rise from his chair. Your sister squeals and runs out the door laughing, her new lover hot on her heels.

Ivar hums, reaching over to refill your glass. “Two down,” he says with a tone of victory, and you give him a look. Cocky bastard. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

The rest of you continue on. Your eyes begin to get glazed, your mind begins to get a slight haze. You are hyper aware of Ivar’s hand still on your thigh, warm through the thin material of your dress. You squirm slightly in your seat. The idea to give up like your sister and just drag Ivar away to his bed is so tempting. He looks positively delicious when he’s getting drunk, his golden skin flushed and his blue eyes wide and playful. But the idea of knocking the prince down a peg one more time is just too tasty. So you continue to drink.

Sigurd is the next to go, promptly being sick on the floor after trying to drink his cup of ale in one swig. Ubbe rolls him into a corner and leaves him to moan to himself. He barely gets him there before Margrethe gets sick as well, so her loving husband simply places her next to his brother, clearly not wanting to give up on winning on account of his wife.

You continue on, and the three of you just get more and more into your cups.

“Three of us left,” you slur after what is maybe your tenth cup, leaning over and nudging Ivar’s shoulder. “I’m going to win!”

Your lover gives you a drunken grin, and the hand on your thigh begins to inch upwards. “Is that so?” His velvety voice purrs, even more sinful when it’s bathed in alcohol. “Are you sure about that?”

You can feel heat begin to bloom under you skin. “I’m fairly sure,” you say, trying to sound confident. His hand continues upwards, and you find yourself wishing you could feel the callouses scrap against bare skin instead of your dress.

“Mmmm, perhaps you are right,” he gives you a smouldering look, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear. “I know I am this close to giving up and just having you right here on this table. The way you look right now, woman, is driving me crazy.”

You moan softly at his words, the ale in your system fuelling your rising want for him. “You started this, you would give in and lose just to have me sooner? You know I am yours after this is over.”

He growls, nipping at your earlobe. “I am not a patient man. When I want something I want it now.” The hand on your thigh is almost at its destination, and you can take it no longer.

You toss your cup away and climb into his lap, capturing his lips in a messy kiss. He responds immediately, groaning into your mouth as your hands tangle in his hair. You push yourself as close as you can get, revelling in the taste of ale on his breath and the careless way his own hands are groping your overheated body.

“So I guess this means I win,” Ubbe’s voice floats somewhere from around you. You ignore him, scratching your nails over Ivar’s scalp as you suck on his tongue. Ivar pulls one hand away from your waist and gives some sort of “go away I don’t give a shit about the contest anymore” gesture. You hear Ubbe’s booming laugh, then some shuffling and bumping as he collects his wife and brother from the corner. Finally, you here the door click closed, and you pull back from Ivar’s lips with a wet smack.

“Get in the bed,” you order, loving the glazed lust you see in his eyes. “I have to go outside for a moment.” You need to rid yourself of some of this ale before you let him have his way with you.

For once, Ivar does not balk at being ordered. He simply nods eagerly and squeezes your rear. You clamber off of him and quickly head outside to do your business, excitement buzzing under your skin the whole time.

When you are finished, you rush back inside and over to the bed. Ivar is shirtless and lying on his back, waiting for you. You climb in, reaching for him…..

And realize he is fast asleep.

“Are you kidding me, Ivar?” You whine, frustration mixing with your desire as you hear him give a loud snore. “This is just great.” You flop down beside him, trying to calm your raging hormones. Clearly you are not getting them soothed by his body tonight.

Ivar gives another snore and rolls over, trapping you beneath one heavy arm. He gives a happy, sleepy little sound and murmurs your name as he nuzzles sloppily at your neck. You cannot help but smile, your frustration melting away at the action. You decide to close your eyes and snuggle into his warmth, suddenly feeling quite tired yourself.

As you drift off, Ivar snoring lightly in your ear, you think to yourself that Ubbe may have won the drinking competition, but you feel like the real winner.

When morning comes and you wake to Ivar’s lips sucking busily on your neck as his hand creeps under your dress, you definitely know you are.


End file.
